


FlightRising

by Zilentdreamer



Series: Three Word Prompts [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24958135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilentdreamer/pseuds/Zilentdreamer
Summary: I have a thread on Flightrising where people will post three word prompts and these are the short stories/snippets I came up with in response.
Series: Three Word Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845937





	1. Bitter, Radical, Aquarium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Krycelli

It isn't puffed up pride or the claims of an over-inflated ego when Gwin states she is one of the greatest thieves of her time. She knew what she was capable of, the blend of natural talent and hard-won ability, years of dedication to shaping her body into the most important of her tools. She has several monikers floating about the capital. All created in an attempt to blur the line between reality and imagination.  
  
With a sensational moniker come the stories. Murmured behind a noblewoman’s fan as she attends one of many soiree’s and hoping to impress her peers. Passed between clerks during the quiet hour before their superior’s arrival.  
  
_“The Ghost made off with another rare jewelry collection this past fortnight.”  
  
“Rumor was the Mockingbird plucked the ancient tablet right off the wall above Lord Randall’s head as he slept.”  
  
“A ring of solid lyrium vanished beneath the eye of the Guard Captain himself, the work of the Muse no doubt.”  
_  
Names meant to conceal what she was capable of in tall tales. For that was what they were after all, just stories, nothing to worry about. It wasn’t as if it were truly possible to pull of some of those heists. Most likely it was just fraud or someone unwilling to confess exactly how they lost their “beloved’s” favor.  
  
It wasn’t the magic that thrummed through her veins as a second heartbeat that made her what she was, although it would certainly be a lie to deny it had not shaped her to eventually follow this path. Nor was it the skills she learned at her mother’s knee, her childhood filled with small puzzles requiring patience and delicacy of touch. They were all pieces to the puzzle, but they were not what made her the best, and more importantly, a mere figment of story rather than the very real thief locked behind bars.  
  
In Gwin’s opinion, her notoriety and continued freedom are due to two things; she knew what she was capable of and thus where her limits were, and secondly, she never took paying jobs.  
  
Her thefts were moments of whimsy given life with weeks of study and preparation. Gwin stole because she was the best, and there was nothing all those highborn nobles with their magic and their endless gold could do to keep her out. Occasionally the things she stole would resurface on the blackmarket, but not all of them did. Some things she stole because they were beautiful, others when she decided they did not belong in the hands they currently did.  
  
This job was the latter.  
  
Gwin looks up from her position, kneeling within the leafy and somewhat sharp embrace of a well groomed shrub. In the pervasive dark of a new moon night the manor she has spent few weeks, and recently the past hour, studying looms overhead. Twenty feet of sheer wall and the single window left ajar to encourage the night’s breeze to air out the room. The only weakness in a truly impressive security set-up. Just big enough to slip through if she is very, very careful.  
  
The plans her contacts had managed to scrounge up described a systematic layering of wards and alarms, enough to make the Demon Emperor himself pause. And yet…  
  
Closing her eyes, Gwin takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. She imagines she can feel the slight presence of a thin layer over her eyes and wills it up and back -  
  
She opens her eyes to a blaze of magic. Even prepared as she is Gwin’s eyes still water from the sheer strength of it. After several long moments to recover and blink the spots out of her eyes, Gwin resumes her perusal of the building. This time she studies the wards that had been laid into the very stones themselves as the manor was being built. Something this complex could only be crafted by generations, each adding to the protections until they fused together. A dragon could shoot fire at this house and the worst to happen would be the nearby bushes being reduced to ash.  
  
A challenge, but not an insurmountable one.  
  
Gwin checks her gloves one more time. They are crafted from supple leather with narrow strips of iron threaded across the palm similar to the bones of a human hand. The iron protrudes from the tips in small hooks, or ‘claws’ as it were. Absolutely essential if she is going to scale that wall with her own strength.  
  
The distant clock tower begins to toll the twelfth hour and Gwin darts out of the bushes. She hits the wall running and immediately starts to climb. Her fingers armed with the iron claws find every crack and imperfection in the mortar to cling to, and the toes of her shoes have been layered with a special material that naturally adheres to any flat surface when enough pressure is applied.  
  
Her gloves and her shoes make an impossible climb barely possible and the rest she must do herself. Under the cover of the bell tolling the twelfth hour she can risk the climb and the resulting noise of her ascent, but it is still a risk.  
  
Nothing she is wearing contains even the slightest speck of magic, her tools specifically crafted for just this reason. As she climbs she concentrates on masking her own presence, shrouding the magic that is inherent in all life. She imagines pulling it all in until it is knotted in on itself where her heart pounds from exertion. It is magic the wards are looking for, and even tricker to conceal, they are looking for ‘intent’. So she must use her unique heritage and shroud her self of self as well until the wards ‘see’ her as nothing more than a leaf tossed against the wall by a playful breeze.  
  
A year passes in the space between bell tolls, Gwin forced to hold her position in the seconds when the clear ring of the bell fades and before the next rings out. Every muscle in her body strains and she can feel the banked fury of the wards layered into the stonework she is pressed against. They are warm as if the sun still beats down on them. She is pouring sweat and as she climbs ever higher she cannot contain her wild grin. She knows her own limits but that does not mean she never tests them.  
  
After a year, a lifetime, two of the longest minutes of her life, the last chime fades as Gwin pushes the window open and slips inside. She makes sure she is touching nothing of the outer wall and only the floor before letting her natural magic come bubbling back to the surface. She bites back a hiss as her arms and legs sting with pins and needles, and swallows past the familiar bitter after-taste that crowds her tongue. It is not a trick she does often and never if it can be avoided. It is something she first learned to do by instinct and none of her careful inquiries have ever turned up anything like it in any of the mage academies. There’s no telling what kind of long term effect it might have on her.  
  
No longer at risk of activating the perimeter wards, Gwin once more adjusted her Sight. The room fairly blazes from the presence of even more wards, but thankfully they are nowhere near as brilliant as the ones outside. These ones are hardly the threat the others had posed either. Most of them are in place to prevent tampering or to conceal. Half of the things in this man’s study are not visible to the naked eye.  
  
It was a rumor that brought her to this moment. She didn’t tend to pay much attention to rumors in of themselves, but this one lingered, and considering current events she was inclined to take this one seriously. Baron Tinim has been throwing around an almost excessive amount of gold considering the state of his holdings, which were average at best. Now where was this sudden wealth coming from?  
  
Those same rumors hinted at a relationship with Kusa which had many tongues wagging and a few others sharpening their knives. Gwin had seen an opportunity. The Kusa were famous for one thing only, and that was the Kusari stone. Ranging from the size of a fingernail to a man’s clenched fist, they were used almost exclusively by magic users. Even in their raw state, they drew in and stored magic. Used carefully they could potentially triple the amount of available power each mage had, no longer limiting them to the limits of their own bodies.  
  
Each one would potentially cost Gwin’s weight in gold. Not that she had any intention of selling them.  
  
Working carefully Gwin carefully searched the study, being careful to disturb as little as possible and if it is necessary, to place it back exactly how she found it. It took some time and she found some interesting correspondence (she wondered if his wife knew about this Lady Isan?), not to mention the Baron’s secret stash of Dreamer. Naughty, naughty Baron. Eventually she came across a small safe hidden behind a picture frame. It was laughable how little imagination these people had, as if they weren’t actually that invested in keeping their goods safe. Getting inside took her only a few minutes since she’d been capable of cracking one of those since she was still clinging to her mother’s apron strings.  
  
There was a box inside and she carefully lifted it out. She was irritated, but slightly impressed to find another ward on the box itself, one specifically keyed to the Baron. It would only open to his touch.  
  
Problematic, if she hadn’t come prepared for just such a thing. Setting the box on the desk she reaches into the small pouch at her waist. Gwin pulls out a single glove. It was sewn from silk and the material is fine against the tips of her fingers. She is struck by contrasting desires, to treat it gently or to shred the clearly expensive material just because she can. The former impulse wins out only due to the necessity of it remaining intact in order to be of any use.  
  
Gwin turns it inside out and presses the inverted fingers against the small seal on the box. She smiles in satisfaction at the dull click. Setting the glove aside she carefully eases the box open in case there are any dormant wards lying in wait.  
  
There is only one jewel inside and it’s about the size of her palm. Gwin can feel her heart stop before immediately beginning to pound. She swallows hard and slowly closes the box.  
  
Not a Kusari jewel. A blood gem.  
  
Damn.


	2. Ethereal, Sun, Glitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by SkullLotus

“This is simply astonishing. I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t seeing this with my own eyes.”  
  
Shan hummed in absent-minded response, most of her attention focused on the task at hand rather than Professor Xi’ns’ excited rambling. With careful sweeps of her brush she gently swept aside layer after layer of coarse sand, fingers stained a dull red where sweat and sand met. At a guess she would say she was uncovering some kind of mural that had been built into some manner of stone floor but that was all she had, a guess. The last survey team hadn’t been able to turn up anything from the natives about what civilization might be responsible.  
  
Which was rather strange, in Shan’s opinion. From the scope of her current project and the small hill over that way where crumbling stone had defied time and the elements to remain perched on top like a broken crown, she would readily support the theory this had been a building at one point. Possibly a temple of some sorts.  
  
Whatever it had been, it had been important. From what she’d seen buried in the sand and from her earlier perusal of the small hill with its remnants, the stone had been fashioned with tools and was not indigenous to the surrounding area.  
  
Someone had brought it, shaped it, and then used it to build….something.  
  
Whoever these people had been they had been far more advanced than any of the locals they’d managed to communicate with. And yet none of them had any stories to tell?  
  
The surveyors might not have gotten any stories of the builders themselves, but they had heard interesting tales about those who crossed into the Expanse. According to local myth, it tended to be a one way trip. Easy enough to dismiss, right up until all of their equipment went dead simultaneously.  
  
They’d triple scanned the planet’s surface, and even that wasn’t necessarily required considering the survey teams were responsible for conducting a majority of the safety scans. Once they’d landed they had set their handhelds to scan continuously. It was going to be a nightmare to sort out all those scan records later but stars willing, she wasn’t going to be responsible for any of it. Everything had gone perfectly, right up until it didn’t.  
  
Upon reaching the site Professor Xi’n had been horrified, quite vocally, about the state of their equipment. Small portable stations that should have already been prepped and pre-loaded with all manner of analyzing programs were very much dead. Not even a flicker of power could be coaxed (or beaten) out of them.  
Needless to say Shan had learned a few more words to add to her basic Raptik.  
  
If Shan had an ounce less self control she would have been shedding sparks the moment they arrived. Everything had worked fine until they’d reached the dig-site and started to make camp. Hearing a 10,000 cred computer ‘fizzle’ had been enlightening to say the least.  
  
The survey teams’ scans and the scan’s they’d taken from orbit indicated there was something here.  
  
Shan huffed a sigh. She dragged the back of her hand across her forehead, resigned to the knowledge that she’d probably just spread the red stain to her face as well. So half the team was spooked and the security they’d been obligated to bring were stalking around like angry Terran wolves, just waiting for someone to point them (and their rifles) in the direction of something they could shoot.  
  
There might be whispers of Professor X’ins’ grasp on sanity, but once they’d discovered the equipment was broken he had decided to head back to the ship. Only it turned out it wasn’t just their science equipment. It was everything. Their personal handhelds to the state of the art communicators the head of the security team had bragged about at the start of the mission. Nothing worked. Not even the universal translators embedded underneath everyone’s tongues. Shan shuddered to think how wrong that might have gone if one of the requirements for joining the “xeno-squad” hadn’t been mastering Standard.  
  
If it had just been the equipment, Shan would have chalked it up to some kind of bizarre coding glitch, or even light sabotage from a rival team. Shan snorted. People acted as if the real drama happened in the ruling houses. Clearly they had never been involved in an inter-departmental meeting meant to hammer out ‘The Budget’.  
  
The communicators though, that was what had Shan fighting not to start shedding sparks. The smart move would have been to retreat, and now they couldn’t even do that. Not that Professor Xi’n was heartbroken over it, hence the enthusiastic monologue happening to her right. Considered one of the top pioneers in the field of Xeno-archaeology as well as the winner of the Galaxius Prime not once, but twice, Shan was painfully aware it would take a super-nova to get him off this tech-forsaken rock now that he had gotten _curious_.  
  
Which was why Shan was currently working with primitive brushes and had a headache that was spreading further and further beneath the curve of her skull with every hour spent beneath the blazing twin suns overhead. If she were Terran she would be cooking from the inside out.  
  
Of course, the professor wasn’t the only one who was curious.  
  
“No magnetic fields or any traces of heavy ore in the soil. As far as our rudimentary tests can confirm there is no viable reason for our equipment to have failed,” The professor said as he passed by on his continuous route through the site. He was suffused with an almost child-like glee, his long reptilian tail lashing back and forth across the red sand. The yellow scales that decorated the underside were almost orange where the sand had collected around the edges.  
  
Shan didn’t begrudge the professor his enthusiasm, it was bound to last right up until he realized the state of his tail and feet. She made a note to make sure she got to her water ration once they called it a night. An irritable Raptik bent on ‘cleaning’ wasn’t going to hesitate to pilfer any water that hadn’t already been claimed.  
  
Sitting back on her heels with a sigh Shan began flipping the brush back and forth between her fingers. It left smears of red across already stained skin and ended up dusting the cuff of her uniform.  
  
She considered the amount of sand she’d managed to clear and came to the conclusion she would be doing this until the end of time. Swallowing back a groan she made to get to her feet, and stopped. In the distance the heat from the baking sand rose in a shimmering wave. Shan blinked in surprise, just able to make out the ethereal shape of what could have been a tower. Pure white it wavered between the harsh line of the horizon where red sand met the yellow-green sky.  
  
Shan slowly got to her feet. “Professor, you might want to see this.”


	3. Conscription, Survival, Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Krycelli

The ocean had seemed so much smaller in her mother’s stories.  
  
No longer able to endure the crowded hold she and her fellow conscripts had been shoved into Isabeau had secured a spot against the ship railing. Well out of the way of the sailors as they went about their duties, and their wandering hands, but still in sight in case anyone came looking for her. Considering the foul temper Lieutenant Herain had been riding for the past week, she thought it best not to risk it turning in her direction.  
  
Endless waves spun out from the hard line of the horizon to slap at the hull of the ship, the sun glittering and dancing across the shifting waters. White froth crowned each wave and was carried into the air when a strong gust of wind skimmed by, cold and stinging across her skin where the salt water had left it chafed. Isabeau licked her dry lips to taste the now familiar quick burn of salt on her tongue.  
  
It was soothing, the strange push and pull of the ship caught amongst the waves. She felt none of the nausea that had sent poor Edon nearly over the side from heaving. Instead, the longer she stared at the water, the more she wondered what it would feel like. She had swam in a lake once, but those placid waters were a world away from the waves that bubbled and thrashed beneath her feet.  
  
“There you are.” Adali stepped up beside her. She was trying to fashion her hair back into the series of braids she’d had earlier with little luck. By the time she had finished binding them back in place the wind had already tugged several dark wisps free. “Blast it all, why do I bother?”  
  
“Because you refuse to be sensible and cut it.” Isabeau rolled her eyes. Her own dark hair was pulled back into a short tail. She’d cut it shortly after it became obvious her small town would not avoid the Call of Conscription. Better to do it herself than have someone make her do it.  
  
Adali snorted but didn’t rise to the bait. She leaned against the railing close enough their arms brushed. Isabeau didn’t begrudge her the intimacy. Standing half a head taller than Isabeau, Adali made a perfect barrier against the sea-touched winds. And it wasn’t in Isabeau to deny herself or Adali the comfort of touch. After what happened with Ysandra they were all a little shook up.  
  
Together they watched the white clouds gather in the distance, fluffy and harmless for the time being. “Were you tempted to run?” Adali asked, just loud enough to be heard over the rush of the waves below.  
  
Isabeau shook her head. “No. As scared as I am and I am scared,” she admitted, “I can’t risk them making good on their threat and going back for my brother. One person from each family, that’s the law. If I make a run for it they’ll expect him to take my place.” She didn’t think she would ever forget the look in her mother’s eyes as Isabeau was led away by the soldiers, the terror that had turned her mother’s face milk-pale and clutch at Calin as if he too were going to be taken away to fight in the Mad-King’s war.  
  
Isabeau gripped the railing hard enough to bleach her knuckles white. “Calin...he’s too young to fight. They would find another use for him.” Just beginning his sixth year, Calin was still small. There was no doubt in her mind they would would throw him in the gold mines where some enterprising soul had determined a child could reach where an adult could not. Only one in five of those children ever came back and more often than not illness claimed them not long after.  
  
The quiet lay between them, only broken by the waves dancing below. It was oddly relaxing and strangely familiar. It itched at her, the strange impression that she should know the sound.  
  
“I have three older sisters,” Adali admitted. “It nearly killed my parents to let me go, but we all knew out of the four of us, I was the most likely to survive.” She gestured, taking in the way she loomed over Isabeau as well as the broad span of her shoulders. “Once they saw me it was a done deal.”  
  
Behind her, as if to break the melancholy mood, there was a rush of footsteps and then the ragged sound of someone being sick over the side. There was a soft moan that marked the victim as Edon. Out of all of the conscripts he was the one taking to sea travel the hardest. Isabeau tried to sympathize but after the fourth time she’d had to step out of the way or be splattered with Edon’s last attempt at a meal, she was growing short on patience.  
  
The solemn moment was broken as Edon’s miserable retching was followed by a sailor’s frustrated cursing and the two young women broke into simultaneous laughter. “I’d be surprised if that one could take a bath without succumbing to the sea-sickness,” Adali admitted as her chuckles trailed away. “It took a couple outings before I discovered my sea legs. Did you live off the coast as well?”  
  
Isabeau frowned at Adali and shook her head. “No, I’d never seen the ocean until they brought us to Pasima.” One of the largest coastal cities in Maerid, Pasima was often considered the Ocean Jewel. Upon their arrival Isabeau had been dazzled by the infinite stretch of the ocean into the hard line of the horizon, a glittering backdrop against the looming shape of the Summer Palace. Lieutenant Herain had threatened to have her whipped if she didn’t stop dawdling.  
  
Adali scoffed. “I’d believe that if I hadn’t seen you walk across the deck our first day on board. You’d have to be born on a ship to - “  
  
“Sails off the portside! No colors flying!”  
  
Isabeau saw Adali’s face drain of all color before the ship turned into a maelstrom of organized chaos. Sailors erupted from below decks where they had been off-duty and began running too and fro. Isabeau could only do her best to stay out of their way with no idea how to help. Captain Eliza strode out of her cabin and began shouting orders. On her heels was Lieutenant Herain. “Captain! What is happening?”  
  
The captain barely spared him a glance. “If we’re lucky just another ******* the Mad-King has over a barrel.” Isabeau had been present when Captain Eliza had been informed that her ship was being seized in order to transport supplies and conscripts to the frontlines. It hadn’t mattered that all merchants who hadn’t been quick to get their ships out of port before the proclamation went out were all in the same boat, as it were. “If we’re not, you’re going to get the chance to blood your little conscripts early.”  
  
“Pirates in these waters? That’s impossible.” The lieutenant had to scramble out of the way when Captain Eliza strode up to the railing with an eyeglass in hand. “What are we going to do?”  
  
“We’ll pile on the sails and see if we can outrun them.”  
  
Lieutenant Herein gaped at her. “And if that doesn’t work?”  
  
The captain bared her teeth at him in the grim parody of a smile, “Like I said, you’ll get to see what your little recruits are made of.” Her gaze landed on Isabeau and Adali where they were doing their best to stay out of the way. Isabeau didn’t think it was pity that softened the captain’s expression, as much as resignation. As if she were already writing them off as potential victims.  
  
Adali stepped away from the railing, her chin lifted in challenge. She had also recognized the look on the captain’s face. “Do you have anything we can use as weapons?” she asked. “I think I can figure out which end of the sword to grab if I’m motivated enough.”  
  
Isabeau hesitated, then moved up to stand beside her. “I know the basic forms for a spear if you have them. Or a long stave will do.”  
  
Lieutenant Herein bristled behind the captain’s shoulder. “You aren’t seriously going to give them weapons? They haven’t been cleared yet.”  
  
Captain Eliza laughed. “Yes, I imagine you would be hesitant to give your would-be cannon fodder weapons after dragging them from their homes. What would you have them do? Stand aside and hope the pirates are feeling merciful today?”  
“We don’t know that they are pirates!”  
  
As if waiting for the opportune moment to embarrass him, the lookout sang out, “Ship approaching. Cannon ports are open!”  
  
“Right. Eames!”  
  
At the captain’s shout a whip-thin man with dark skin trotted up. He shoved a heavy coil of rope at a passing sailor, “Store this before someone trips over it. Captain, we’re distributing the weaponry now. Herris is readying the harpoon.”  
  
The captain nodded. “Good, make sure all the conscripts are armed even if it’s with a table knife.” When Lieutenant Herain started blustering she cut him off. “If you want to deliver corpses instead of conscripts for your Mad-King’s army you chose the wrong boat. Now get out of my way before I have you confined. If we have any chance of surviving this we’re going to need all hands on deck, including you and your lot.” Without waiting for a response the captain swept away, still shouting orders as she passed her spyglass off to her second-mate.  
  
Not wanting to make herself a target for Lieutenant Herain’s frustration Isabeau followed Eames’ gesture to follow after him. Close on her heels, Adali said, “Do you think we have a chance?”  
  
Isabeau glanced over her shoulder where she could see the approaching ship. At this distance she could just make out the movements of the other crew, the wavering echoes of their own call to arms reflected off the water. “I think we have a better chance now than we did before.”


	4. Prophecy, Dusk, Ribbon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Kalypsonite

“What do you want?”

Ignoring the growled out question Seyon dropped into the empty seat by the fire. He lifted his hands so the dancing flames could warm the chill out of his fingers. Behind him he could hear the rest of the camp moving about, soft conversations and the occasional thump and rustle as supplies were dispersed or unpacked. Occasionally he felt the pressure of eyes on him, a there and gone flick of awareness that he felt like invisible fingers on his back.

Wyvern sighed when he didn’t receive a response and threw another stick on the fire. There was a burst of sparks and the dancing tongues of flame quickly licked over the dry wood. The black stain of char flowed as smooth and slow as water, devouring with insatiable hunger.

“I need you to take me somewhere.” Seyon said. When he glanced out of the corner of his eye he could see the wary tension spring to life beneath Wyvern’s all encompassing cloak. “And the other’s can’t know where we’re going.”

Wyvern coughed out a laugh. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Seyon nodded but continued, “If you don’t help me I’ll go by myself. And I doubt I’ll be able to get where I’m going without you.”

“Considering I’ve tried to kill you several times I don’t see why this is supposed to bother me.” One dark eye peeked out from the cover of his cloak. “You’re just making it easy for me at this rate.”

Smirking outright Seyon said, “I’m about to make it even easier than you think. I’m trying to get to the Darkause Ruins.”

Any amusement Wyvern had found in the situation vanished like smoke. Seyon saw the twitch of his cloak and imagined the other man was clenching his hands into fists. There was a betraying rustle where the cloak draped over the back of the log he was seated on. As if he couldn’t keep the scaled length of his tail still. “No one goes there,” Wyvern ground out. “After fighting this hard to live why would you guarantee yourself a death sentence?”

“Would it be?” Seyon asked. Lifting his hands he studied the marks on his wrists with a hard won reserve. A single band as black as pitch encircled each wrist. Beneath the firelight it shone as if it were a mere satin ribbon laying against his skin, but it was as much a part of him as any of his limbs. “I have my doubts about that.”

Surging to his feet Wyvern turned towards the dark line of trees in the distance where the forest ended and the camp began. No doubt to disappear until sunrise as was his usual routine. Seyon gestured and Wyvern froze in place, falling unnaturally still. It dug at something inside Seyon to do it, as if some vast pressure were coming to bear from the skin out but he had come too far and lost too much to stop now. The line had been crossed and there was only one way to go now.

“I am going to release you.” It took effort for Seyon to keep his voice even. The longer he brought his will to bear on Wyvern the greater the pressure grew. Seyon flicked his eyes down to the marks on his wrists and saw miniscule tendrils begin to break up the perfect edges, as if putting down roots. “When I do, you will sit down and hear me out. After I’m done then you can leave.” His mouth curled up into a smile he never thought he could make. “If you still want to.”

With a twist of will he released the hold he had and sagged forward. He barely had the energy to lift his head to see Wyvern take one threatening step toward him before stopping. The shifter’s eyes raked over the rest of the camp and all the watching eyes. Seyon could see the struggle in him, the debate on wondering what would happen if he tried to take Seyon out again. Would he be fast enough to do it considering what Seyon had already proven he could do? Would he be able to get away afterwards? Would it be worth it even if he couldn’t?

Seyon knew what the answer would be before Wyvern dropped back into his seat. “Get talking then. The sooner you get this over with the quicker I can get out of here.”

“It’s not like you’ll go far,” Seyon couldn’t help but point out. “Not while I’m still alive anyway.”

“Without you there is no prophecy,” Wyvern snapped. “If you die everyone else is safe.”

Laughter bubbled out of Seyon, surprising him and judging from the look on Wyvern’s face, him as well. “How noble of you,” Seyon said, still laughing. “You should have said something before. Then I might have let you stab me the last three times you tried.”

If Seyon hadn’t already proven that he could keep Wyvern in place no doubt he would have already stomped his way back to the forest. Off to brood and plot more murder attempts no doubt.

“I’ll admit the prophecy does make things seem somewhat dire.” The understatement almost made Seyon start laughing all over again. A gate from which the demons would descend upon their world and feast to their heart’s content, and he was the key. Or so the prophecy claimed. “But I’m starting to wonder if that’s what it’s actually saying.”

Seyon had never seen Wyvern dumbfounded so he did his best to commit the expression to memory. “What madness is this?” Then his expression cleared into the murderous one that Seyon was more familiar with. “No, I will not let your cowardice doom our world. You are the key and if you die, then the prophecy cannot be completed.”

“That’s why I need to go to Darkause ruins. That’s where the prophecy was first stated, and I need to know what happened there.”

“The entire castle was murdered by demons. What more do you need to know?” Wyvern’s claws sank into the log he was sitting on. Seyon wasn’t sure he even knew he was doing it.

It was on the tip of his tongue to explain, to mention the letters he had found. They were from Nicola, the first Demon Bound, to her sister but Seyon held his tongue. It was unlikely that Wyvern would believe him if he explained that the demons were the first victims in what seemed to be an endless war. Summoned from their realm and bound with chains of magic and will, they had never had a choice. They were enslaved and used, passed down from one mage to another until they faded into nothing more than violent wraiths. It was difficult to wrap his head around, so much of his country’s history based on a lie, but he had to know for himself.

“I recently discovered something that makes me doubt the way the prophecy has been interpreted.” It was a poor explanation and Seyon knew he deserved the contemptuous look Wyvern threw at him. “I’ll make a bargain with you,” Seyon said, leaning forward. “You take me to Darkause and if you still think I need to die, I’ll let you kill me.”

“You’re lying.” Wyvern snorted, unimpressed. “After how hard you’ve fought and everything you’ve done up to this point there’s no way you’d just let me kill you.”

Which was true, to a point. “It will be just me and you,” Seyon said. “Considering how close you’ve gotten so far, I think you’re chances are good if there isn’t anyone else around to stop you.”

There was a growl and Wyvern lunged toward him only to stop at the last moment. Seyon held up a hand when he heard a shout behind him. “I’m fine,” he yelled. “He isn’t going to hurt me.”

“That confident are you?” Wyvern’s fangs were visible, an obvious sign that his control was slipping. It probably shouldn’t have made Seyon more confident. “Why shouldn’t I kill you right here and now?”

Seyon ‘reached’ and gripped Wyvern once again. He knew it was a stupid thing to do before he did it, but there was that throbbing anger that had been stewing in his gut since he first found that letter and he was tired. Tired of being fed lies and having everyone look at the black marks on his wrist first and who he actually was and did second. “Because you can’t. I’m offering you a choice. Help me find out the truth, the actual truth, and maybe we can stop a war.” He ‘squeezed’ a little tighter and heard Wyvern grunt. “Unless you think you can’t take me by yourself?”

“You think I’ll risk my life to help you?” Wyvern scoffed. “No one goes to Darkhause and comes out alive.”

“But you did,” Seyon said. He didn’t look away as the blood drained away from Wyvern’s face and there was a dull crunch as his claws bit into the log Seyon was sitting on. “Yes, I know you have been there. And I need you to take me back. So, how badly do you want to kill me? Obviously you’ll have a chance to kill me on the way there. Are you going to pass that up?”

“I’ll take you,” Wyvern ground out. The fury laced in every syllable was almost impressive. “Once we get to Darkause I won’t need to lift a finger to kill you.” He snarled in a flash of fangs followed by a snake-like hiss. “That cursed place will do it for me.”

“We’ll see.” Not an inspiring comeback but it was all Seyon had to say. Anything else would reveal the shaky relief that against all odds Wyvern had agreed. Seyon honestly hadn’t thought the shifter would. “What time do we leave?”

Wyvern stepped back and if there was a brief shudder when he was able to move away Seyon chose to ignore it. “Not tonight. We need to make sure we have supplies. And a plan to deal with your ‘friends’.” Wyvern ground his jaw hard enough Seyon could almost hear the teeth grinding together. “Be ready two days from now, dusk.”

Seyon wasn’t given a chance to respond. Wyvern hightailed it away from the campfire and the camp itself as if the demons of old were after him. Seyon couldn’t exactly blame him. So he sat and stared into the dancing, flickering flames until he had the energy to move. When he glanced at his arms the strange black marks had returned to the same satin smooth finish and clear cut lines.

Hopefully he would have his answer soon.


	5. Seraphic, Sly, Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by LeafeonWarrior
> 
> **This one is technically a continuation of Chapter 3**

Isabeau leaned against the railing, eyes closed against the brisk wind that carried the hint of salt. She ignored the way the wind combed through her hair and turned it into a tousled mess against the back of her neck and in her face. Once in a while she brushed it aside, or tried to, until giving up and letting the wind push it around some more.

With night having long since fallen it was almost brutally cold up on deck. Without her cloak she would have been freezing, and even with it her hands felt numb where she gripped the railing. It was better than the stifling confines of the berth she’d been given. Everything was too close, the walls, her memories. It was better to be up on the deck where there was only the cold, and sea wind to keep her company.

She looked down at the dark waters where they lapped against the side of the ship and her shiver had nothing to do with the cold.

It hurt, a yawning ache between her ribs to realize she’d been lied to her whole life. She had so many answers now to questions she didn’t even know to ask. Why her mother had feared the ocean and why she...hadn’t.

She was still having trouble believing it. The whole mess was just too far-fetched when laid out beneath the hard light of day. An ancient pact, a sea-monster bound by magic, a prince determined to save his child from the duty passed through his blood. It should have been a fairytale, something to stay up reading until the candle burned itself out. None of the revelations from the previous day had any place in real life.

Isabeau wanted to deny it, but...even now she can feel...something.

Ever since she was first brought on board she had an awareness of the sea that didn’t seem strange at first. She’d never even seen the ocean before how could she have known.

There was something terrifying about how close she had come to falling into the trap. Three weeks at sea and two sea battles. She’d even fallen into the water during that last battle trying to repair the rigging. If her blood had touched the ocean water...the magic lying dormant would awaken a creature so terrible that even the legends themselves had tried to erase it.

If she had any common sense she would be hiding in the middle of the ship and doing her best to avoid so much as catching a splinter. Isabeau should be feeling vulnerable and frightened, but right now all she felt was a fury that left her almost breathless beneath the weight of it. Had her mother ever intended to tell her? To explain the invisible weight that had always sat heavy across her shoulders and why she would dream of an ocean she had never seen.

It had been a shock to recognize something she knew, she knew, she had never seen.

If there was anything this blasted war had taught her, it was that ignorance was no excuse. Her mother might have hoped to save her by refusing to tell her the truth, but in the end it had just placed her in more peril.

“So this is where you retreated to.”

Isabeau startled as Captain Eliza joined her at the railing. She immediately felt the fool for taking such a drastic risk with everyone’s safety by lingering by the water.  
Her immediate apologies were waved away as the captain leaned on the railing, resting her weight on her elbows. “Don’t apologize. Considering what we learned yesterday I don’t think you could avoid the ocean even if you tried.” She eyed Isabeau sidelong. “That does explain things at least.”

Isabeau pressed her lips together to hold back the tirade that tried to pour out of her. Instead it sat on her tongue, heavy and bitter.

“So what are you out here brooding over?”

Isabeau stared outright in surprise. “Captain?”

The Captain’s smile was soft, not the usual sly curve of her lips. It was the look in her eyes that made Isabeau swallow hard and look back out over the water. * “Your world was basically turned upside down yesterday and judging from your reaction you had no idea it was coming. That kind of thing can cut your feet out from under you faster than any wave.” She looked out over the night-dark ocean. “It might help to talk about it.”

“I don’t think it will,” Isabeau said, the words falling sharp and furious. “My mother lied to me. She risked my life because she was afraid and let me stumble into this,” Isabeau gestured at herself and the ocean as if that was explanation enough, “without any warning. She could have given me answers any time but instead she stayed quiet even when I was -”. Biting back the words Isabeau swallowed hard. She imagined the words were an actual physical weight in the back of her throat.

“When you were what?” the captain pressed. If she had turned to look at Isabeau she would have brushed her off. But her gaze was still on the endless ocean with its churning black waves gilded in moonlight. It was as much privacy as Isabeau could expect on the ship and receiving it from the captain now gave her the courage to continue.

“I’ve always dreamed of the ocean,” she admitted, speaking barely above a whisper. Just a touch louder than the quiet shush of the waves beneath them. “When we would visit the nearby lake I could never figure out why I always felt so strange in the water. As if it was close to what I wanted, but not enough.” She remembered crying once, only the once, not even sure why. Her mother had held her close and wiped her tears away saying, it was okay, it would fade with time.

It hurt to realize what her mother meant now. “I don’t know if she was ever going to tell me. Maybe she was going to wait until whatever magic lived in me...died.”

“But then you ended up on the ocean.”

Isabeau nodded and looked down at her hands where she gripped the railing. The water danced back and forth on the edge of her vision. It was frightening to realize that a part of her belonged down there.

“I saw a Mer once.” Before Isabeau could pepper her with questions the captain continued, “It was a long time ago, back when I first started sailing. It was in the middle of a storm and the captain had me up on the mast to help tighten the sails." She laughed, shaking her head. “It was a wonder I survived the attempt. I’m pretty sure the captain had done it hoping I would get swept away.” The captain’s smile was deliberately sweet, seraphic as the one gracing the lips of the Lady fashioned on the prow of the ship. “He didn’t like having a girl onboard. Thought it would bring bad luck. But unfortunately for him I knew what I was doing. I was fighting to keep my grip beneath the wind and driving rain and suddenly lightning slashed across the sky.”

Captain Eliza shook her head and shared a commiserating look with Isabeau. “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A Mer in the water several yards off the portside. It was looking right at me.”

Enraptured by the story Isabeau whispered, “What did you do?”

“I was frozen until a crack of thunder right overhead nearly made me lose my grip. By the time I had righted myself and was no longer in danger of falling the Mer was gone.” Captain Eliza’s nails tapped against the railing, her chin braced on the heel of one hand. “I could be imagining things, but I almost think the Mer was waiting to see if I was going to fall.” Another short laugh. “Hopefully they meant to rescue me, but I don’t know. It’s been a long time since they bothered to speak with us. In fact, I think it was almost two hundred years since any have bothered to speak with the royal family.”

Isabeau pressed her lips together. “That would fit with when my supposed ancestor took his family and fled the ocean.”

Captain Eliza hummed in agreement. “That would make them a bit salty about us land-lubbers huh?”

Isabeau blinked and then looked at the captain askance. “Did you just…?”

The captain’s response wasn’t so much a laugh as an actual cackle. Isabeau was pretty sure she’d heard seagulls make the same noise. “It did the job didn’t it. Aren’t brooding anymore are you?”

“If it weren’t too dangerous now I think I would be tempted to throw myself overboard,” Isabeau muttered.

Captain elbowed Isabeau in the side, ignoring Isabeau’s yelp of complaint. “You talk big. One of the reasons I like you.” The captain didn’t move away but instead slung her arm around Isabeau’s neck. “One more thing before I leave you to your hopefully much lighter thoughts.”

Feeling a change in the air, Isabeau carefully nodded.

“What your mother did hurt you and only you can decide if you will ever forgive her for it.” Isabeau tensed but didn’t try to pull away, aware that she wouldn’t be able to escape the captain’s hold. “But if you learn anything from this, I want it to be that even the people you care about will betray you if they think they are doing it for the right reasons.”

Even with the cloak on Isabeau felt suddenly so cold. “Captain…”

Letting go, Captain Riley carefully turned her until they were standing face to face. She put both hands on Isabeau’s shoulders and leaned in, continuing just above a whisper. “Be careful, Isabeau. Whatever protection your mother tried to give you is gone now. If it were only my crew who knew what you are I could try to buy you more time, but unfortunately I wasn’t the only captain at that encounter.” She pressed her lips together hard enough to drive the blood out of them before continuing. “We are at war and there will be those who will look at you and see the key to an ancient power. They won’t stop to wonder if they can control it, or what it might do to you in the process.”

Isabeau knew the captain was right, but it hurt to hear it spoken out loud. This wasn’t something she could hide from.

Not anymore.


	6. Fairy, Hardship, Tempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Justdevon

It was a slow night, which was the only reason Herah hadn’t grabbed her things and just kept walking in spite of the rain. Comfort alone had not been enough to draw her, but it was pointless to continue as long as the rain lasted. Any trail that still lingered had been washed away within the first hour of the downpour that thundered down on the roof overhead. If she was going to have to sit tight until it stopped she might as well do it warm and with a full belly.

The food might have been temptation enough to stop if she hadn’t been all too aware of what was at stake if she truly lost the trail. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten something more complex than still dripping meat roasted over a fire or a biscuit far from fresh but still a few weeks from stone stale. A generous tip to the serving woman had gotten her drink topped off as well, a sweet cider still cool from the cellars. Or the owner had decided to invest in an ice working.

Still, good food could only cover so many sins. The clamor of noise coming from her left where a long table had been taken over by a single party was wearing on her patience, breaking up the evening quiet with various cheers and scuffles as they celebrated amongst themselves. Herah made a point to keep an eye on them as she ate and then nursed what remained of her drink. She was alone and clearly female since she’d removed her travel cloak upon entering the common room. A combination almost guaranteed to draw some kind of attention, concerned or...otherwise.

The sword still strapped to her back would either convince any trouble makers that she wasn’t worth the effort, or would prove to be its own sort of provocation. A quick read of the room could usually give her an inkling on which was the wind would blow, so to speak, but she wasn’t getting that vibe from any of the ones celebrating. She’d noted the quick glances they’d cast her way as she strode inside, easily marking her as a traveler and armed for such.

She’d dismissed the serving woman’s suggestion of a room, content to bed down in the common room until the storm passed. If the men and women partying nearby got a little too deep into their cups and decided to question the traveler she would have to endure the rain.

The urge to keep going was strong, the urgency that had driven her this far thrumming away until it was an actual struggle not to bounce one booted foot off the ground. It was pointless to continue when the trail was as good as gone. Rationally, she knew she had very little choice but to sit and wait for the rain to clear up, but that didn’t stop her from thinking maybe she could catch up, maybe even with the rain something will have remained long enough to point her in the right direction.

Once she might have allowed the urgency to lead her, letting instinct and sharp edged compassion rule her. Herah snorted into her cider, and if it tasted bitter on her tongue for a moment, well that’s what happened when she let her thoughts wander down certain paths. She’d learned her lesson, but apparently she still needed the reminder every once in a while. Which was just as well, she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, not if she had any hope of catching up before they reached the border.

Not that she wasn’t set to follow them over it if it came to that. She was just hoping it didn’t. It would make things...complicated.

“May I join you?”

Herah startled, one had twitching towards the sword on her back before she mastered the impulse. She eyed the cloaked figure standing next to her small table with clear suspicion. The way the hood was still pulled up to conceal the majority of the woman’s face, and it was a woman judging from the voice although Herah wouldn’t bet all her coin on that assumption, made the back of Herah’s neck prickle. Not with alarm, just wariness.

Lucky for the stranger curiosity won out over suspicion. “Sure,” Herah said. She nudged the opposite chair away from the table with a slight kick. She watched as the stranger took a seat and something about the way they moved was...interesting. “I can’t promise to be good company though,” Herah continued, taking another sip of cider. “It’s been a long few days.”

“Yes, I imagine tracking slavers across the breadth of Kier has been quite the hardship.” Now that the woman was seated directly across from Herah, she could see what the cloak’s hood had managed to conceal until now.

Herah hissed in shock, nearly knocking her mug of cider clear off the table. Even in the shadows still cast by the hood, she could clearly make out the all too familiar slit pupils and the faint glimmer of hair that would not be any color found amongst humans. “Fairy,” she said with another hiss. It took her a few seconds to overcome the shock of ending up face to face with one of the Fair Folk here of all places before she realized just what the woman had said. “You’ve been following me. What do you want?”

The fairy laughed and it was a genuine surprise when everyone didn’t immediately turn to stare. Nothing mortal could laugh like that. At least it explained why she was still wearing her hood pulled up. If people knew one of the Fair Folk was sitting so close, well it was probably for the best they didn’t. It wouldn’t end well...for them and most of the surrounding village.

“This is why I like your kind,” the fairy said. She smiled and Herah couldn’t figure out what it was about it that she found so unnerving until she realized it was as if the woman were copying a series of muscle movements. Her lips curved up and the corners of her eyes crinkled, but it lacked something. “Straight to the point without any careful conversation as we circle around the subject. Most refreshing.”  
Herah just raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to get to the point.

“I have not been following you. Rather you have drawn a certain amount of attention.”

“Whose attention?” Herah asked, wary.

“Mine.” Another one of those smiles but Herah’s unease was swallowed by the way the woman’s eyes grew dark. It was as if her pupils suddenly began to grow until her eyes were solid black, glossy and bright from the shine of the braziers placed throughout the room. “I have watched you for some time, Herah. What was, what is, and what will be.”

Sitting frozen, Herah came to the conclusion that she really should have kept slogging through the rain. Her mistake was holing up somewhere comfortable. She would bet that whoever this woman was, she had waited until she could be dry to have this conversation. Staying wet and miserable might have bought her some extra time before the fairy decided to have this little ‘chat’.

Too late to mull over now but definitely something to consider the next time she was caught in a storm. “What do you want?” Herah asked again. She didn’t growl, but only just.

“I want to offer you a deal,” the fairy said. “I’ll help you track down the slavers you are hunting before they reach the border, and in return I’ll need you to do something for me.”

“For someone who appreciates me wanting to spell things out, you do seem to like talking in circles,” Herah pointed out with no little irritation. “I’m not going to agree until I know exactly what kind of price your help will saddle me with.”

The fairy’s smile widened and Herah was startled to register an actual flash of warmth in the woman’s expression. As if she had been wearing an ill-fitting mask and let it slip for a moment. “Yes, I do believe I am rather fond of you, Herah. Even after everything, you are still very much...you.”

“The price,” Herah said through gritted teeth. She was not going to grab for her sword and see just how fast a fairy could dodge. No matter how nice it played out in her head, Herah knew it wouldn’t be worth it. Or so she kept telling herself.  
“In return for helping you stop the slavers, I want you to guard me.”

“What exactly would I be guarding you from?” Herah contemplated just getting up and walking away. One of the Fair Folk would never take the straight path if they could go in circles instead. For all the woman ‘appreciated’ her candor, it didn’t go so far as to try and emulate it. “And what do you need me for if you can see it coming?” Everyone and their mule knew not to mess with anyone who had the Sight. Since crossing one of the Fair Folk was equally foolish, a fairy with the Sight seemed as vulnerable as an acid-spitting wyvern.

“Just because I can see the threat coming, doesn’t mean I will be able to thwart it,” the fairy says, with such nonchalance it made Herah wary all over again. The Fair Folk were notoriously proud, there was a reason the stories existed after all. Having one outright admit there was something she couldn’t do...that struck Herah as strange. “That’s why I need you.” The fairy leaned forward, her black eyes glinting in the half-light beneath the hood. “What say you, Child of Fire? My aid for your protection?”

Herah drummed her fingers on the surface of the table as she thought. One felt off, her fingernail gone ragged after catching it on something. She didn’t know when it happened, but it had been irritating her all evening. Letting her focus shift inward, she willed heat to the finger with the lop-sided nail. There was a soft thunk as the ragged nail melted into a sharp black claw. Herah considered the impression the singular claw had made on the fire hardened wood before flicking her hand. The black claw vanished, replaced with a whole human fingernail.

“I don’t think I will,” Herah finally said. “I appreciate the offer, but there’s a lot here you aren’t telling me and I’m not going to agree to help you without knowing the full story.” Being polite wouldn’t hurt anything, hopefully. Getting to her feet she reached into the small pouch at her waist and withdrew a few coppers. Leaving them on the table for the serving staff to pick up she offered the fairy a nod. “When you feel like telling me what you actually want, I’ll consider your offer of help. May the night see you well.”

Herah strode out of the tavern without looking back, knowing that the fairy was watching her. Probably wearing the same smile as before with a flash of genuine amusement lighting up strange black eyes. It was no matter, Herah didn’t think for a moment that the fairy wouldn’t be back.

Maybe the fairy showing up at all could be considered a warning in of itself. If one of the Fair Folk was willing to get involved, a Seer no less, then something big was coming. Whether it was a war or something else, she wanted someone like Herah close at hand.

It would be intriguing if Herah weren’t already fixated on her current job. She stepped out into the rain and was relieved to see that the earlier downpour had waned into a steady drizzle. The trail was definitely washed away, but at least she wasn’t going to get soaked looking for where it picked up.

The fairy would be back, Herah could feel it. But until then, she had some children to rescue.


	7. Brood, Toxic, Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by mintdragonmagic

Shoveling the last of the wyvern dung into the wheelbarrow, Elane blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs. Her sweat matted hair had escaped the wrap she’d used to tie it back and now it tickled the back of her neck. Considering that her gloves were smeared with wyvern dung, Elane was resigned to the irritation until she could steal a moment to clean up a little. She paused when she heard the distinctive clank of the main gate starting to rise, and groaned in frustration. Whatever chance she had of cleaning up, none-the-less snagging an early lunch from the kitchen was gone now.

Stepping out of the small cave, Elane set her shovel aside to avoid anyone tripping over it. Having nearly ended up face first in a pile of wyvern dung her first week at Black Rock thanks to an unattended shovel, it was something she usually made a point of being careful about. It never hurt to be careful when dealing with wyverns.

Crossing the large cavern, Elane headed for the rising gate, ignoring the various hisses of displeasure from each of the enclosures, all natural caves that had been fitted with steel doors to keep the wyverns inside contained. Seeing Kern in discussion with what looked to be a Rider, judging from the wyvern leathers Elane slowed her pace, but continued to make her way over.

“...With no warning,” she heard as she got closer. Kern’s jaw was clenched tight with the force of his frustration, pulling the shiny skin of his scar tight across his cheekbone and temple.

“We were en-route to the Peak when we got word that the roads were flooded.” To give the Rider credit, he wasn’t displaying any of the typical condescension that most Riders affected when talking to anyone who wasn’t a fellow Rider. “Normally I would try to push through, but the feral we’re transporting has already proven more vicious than most and I can’t say for sure that the wagon could hold her if we tried to wait it out anywhere else.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t know if we have any enclosures available for your feral.” Seeing her walk up, Kern gestured for her to come closer. “Elane, Ser Adrian has a feral he needs confined until the road dries out after last night’s storm. Do we have any enclosures available?”

Elane glanced at Kern, then at Ser Adrian. “You’re in luck. I just finished cleaning one out. It’s former occupant has gone back to the front so it’s yours if you need it.”

Ser Adrian didn’t actually sag with relief, but it was obvious that if he weren’t trying to maintain the necessary decorum, he would have. “The gods be praised. If we were forced to continue I’m sure I would have had a mutiny on my hands.” His jaw firmed as he glanced back over his shoulder, where several soldiers waited, none of them doing a good job of concealing how uneasy they were surrounded by wyvern enclosures.

Well, that explained that then. Riders might think themselves better than the average citizen, but even a wyvern hostler was better than a scared soldier. At least a hostler knew how to deal with a wyvern. The most they ever taught soldiers was how to stay out of biting range while on the battlefield.

Not that it worked all the time.

Ser Adrian gestured at the soldiers. “Bring the feral inside. We’ll wait here until the road dries out,” he called.

Not bothering to conceal their relief the soldiers saluted and ran out to the wagon. As they waited Elane seized the moment to consider Ser Adrian’s wyvern mount. It was clearly a male judging from the spines that grew from the crown of its head to the base of its long neck. The bright copper scales that developed a blue tint from chin to belly was something she had never seen before, but it was common for the males to sport various colors.

The males had the spines and the vibrant colors meant to attract attention. The females had much more drab colors, muted greys and browns, and spat a caustic venom that was considered one of the most toxic fluids this side of the Alirean Sea. It was far more common for wyvern mounts to be male, while females were generally reserved for times of war where specially trained handlers would ride them as an elite division of the cavalry. Nothing struck fear into the hearts of the enemy faster than the furious shriek of a female wyvern, followed by a stream of venom known to melt the flesh off a man’s bones in a handful of minutes.

Since the soldiers were taking their time bringing the wagon, Elane took a few steps closer to Ser Adrian and gestured at his wyvern. “What’s his name?”

She took it as another point in his favor when he smiled automatically as he looked up at the male wyvern. “This is Cladius. We’ve been paired up for almost five years now.” He chuckled and reached up to thump an open hand against a scaled shoulder. “For the entire first year I was convinced he was sizing me up to find the perfect place to take a bite. But I guess he decided I wasn’t worth the effort.”

“Sounds about right,” Elane agreed. “Mind if I take a look at him?”

Rather than give an immediate affirmative, Ser Adrian hesitated. “Is there a reason you need to? He was checked over by my unit’s hostler before we left so as far as I know he is as healthy as a wyvern gets.”

Elane floundered around the explanation that she simply wanted to look at him. That he was a gorgeous wyvern and she wanted to see what she could pick out from his breeding. Luckily, Kern answered Ser Adrian for her.

“Her family breeds wyverns,” Kern said, looking Cladius over himself with expert appraisal. “She’s probably forgotten more things about the beasts than you’ve ever learned.”

Elane bit her tongue around the correction that her family ‘used’ to breed wyverns.

Rather than get offended Ser Adrian looked intrigued. “Is that so? In that case go ahead.” He continued with a sheepish air, “If you do spot anything problematic can you let me know? I trust our hostler Aldric about as far as I can throw him. Enough to get the job done, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to turn down a second opinion.”

Suddenly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation, Elane nodded. “Sure. I doubt I’ll see anything, Cladius seems to be in prime condition but I’ll check just in case.”

Taking a step forward, Elane let out a short whistle, followed by a quick tongue roll that was the closest a human could get to mimicking the typical wyvern’s friendly greeting. It was generally used with blood relatives since wyverns lived in matriarchal packs, with the dominant female, or Queen, ruling the others with sharp teeth and quick sprays of venom that kept the others in line. It was seeing their clan structures that first gave someone the idea that wyverns could be trained to work with humans.

Cladius startled at the sound of her greeting, but didn’t hiss or mantle his wings. He cocked his head with obvious interest and returned the trill, lowering his head to get a better look at her. Must have come from a breeder then if he recognized the sound of a human trying to mimic the wyvern’s call. He remained calm when she took a step closer so she felt safe enough to blow out a quick breath aimed at his face. A wyvern’s sense of smell was one of their most vital, and gave him a chance to get her scent without doing something stupid like waving a hand in his face. She’d seen some idiot trainers do that, but only the once.

When Cladius’ nostrils flared and he continued to remain passive, if curious, Elane finally stepped in close. Clicking under her tongue she ran light hands along the spines at the crown of his head, scratching her nails at the base of the largest. It wasn’t long before there was a low rumbling that could almost be called a purr, if a cat stood almost seventeen hands at the shoulder and sported two inch claws on all four feet. Once he was properly soothed and she had clarified he wouldn’t see her as a threat, she looked him over.

His scales were smooth, almost slick beneath her fingers. Only a few areas had the telltale rough spots that hinted at future shedding. The bone spurs at his elbows, ankles, and knees were capped with sharp tips, when she tested the one at his left elbow she felt it shift beneath the pressure of her fingers. Frowning she looked closer at the others, but it was just the one that felt loose. His eyes were bright and clean around the edges, his ears had almost no scarring. The scales on Cladius’ face were pristine.

Elane hesitated in her inspection when she came upon the control collar. It wasn’t the monstrosity she’d seen on some wyverns, which were little more than thick spell chains that never failed to crush the small scales along the neck and throat. This one was leather with a single shaped ruby stitched into place. When she checked the edges she was relieved to see that there weren’t any crushed scales or bruising, and Cladius didn’t shy away at letting her touch it.

It was good to know that he didn’t associate it with pain.

“You don’t use the control collar.” Elane didn’t look at Ser Adrian, not wanting to see the look on his face.

“No, Cladius and I get along well.” There was a pause before he continued with, “He wouldn’t have one at all if I had it my way, but the army can’t risk losing control of a wyvern, so...the collars.”

Looking at the simple black leather and the glint of the ruby made Elane want to grind her teeth. So many times she’d seen the collars in action, the way the runes lit up bright enough to sear across her vision even when she closed her eyes. The way the wyverns always screamed in pain, writhing and scratching at their neck and shoulders until they bled or the pain finally ended.

While she understood why the collars made people feel safer, Elane knew through experience that no one who truly understood how to interact with wyverns needed one of those blasted collars. Growing up on a wyvern breeding farm, Elane had started learning the basics of what to do when she was only knee-high. She watched her grandfather and her father, and had worked alongside her sisters as they sought to truly understand the fierce creatures. They were predators without a doubt, but they weren’t mindless and to think of them as just animals with sharp teeth and claws, that was the true mistake.

It had been her lifelong dream to become a Rider and had even begun the rudimentary training with one of their young wyverns. Normally she would have joined the Royal Wyvern corps and been given a wyvern once she proved she could survive the training, but for those with the means they were allowed to provide their own ‘mount’ as long as the beast passed inspection by the royal stables.  
But then the war had happened and the king sent out a decree that let the corps seize all eligible wyverns from any private breeding farms that didn’t have the means or connections to protect themselves.

When the king’s men had come, they’d forced those blasted collars on all of the wyverns she’d grown up with and raised, and dragged them shrieking and snarling out of her life. Elane and her sisters had promptly joined the king’s service amongst the Wyvern Corps. They had little hope of finding their wyverns, but if they could, they could at least try and make sure they were treated right.

Risel was a Rider herself now, after two years of training. Lida was still training to be a Rider. They were boarded at the same training hall, which had been a boon none of them had expected. They wrote letters back and forth, and in all of them there was always the unspoken question; had anyone seen their wyverns?

Elane hadn’t had the heart to try for a Rider position, not when the only wyvern she’d ever wanted to ride was long gone, stolen out of her life and thrown into the grinding maw of war. She looked at the control collar around Cladius’ neck and it broke her heart to realize that it was the best case scenario for all the wyverns that had been taken. Better they have a collar than being put down and ‘harvested’. After all, wyvern hide was one of the best protections against the venom the females possessed.

Once she finished her inspection and confirmed the wyvern was in good health, Elane gave Cladius one last firm rub to the sensitive skin just beneath his jaw. He trilled and extended his neck to urge her on, eyes falling half-lidded when she obliged him by dragging her nails along the ridge where the scales started to form armor just under his jaw. It was the pressure she was applying to the scales more than the actual scratching the wyvern was looking for. She knew those scales tended to be the most sensitive before a molt, and judging from the way Cladius was pressing his head down into her hand she assumed he was close to starting.

When she finally stepped away Cladius heaved a sigh before standing straight once more, as if resigned to the limited attention. She thumped him on the shoulder with a laugh. “Don’t even try it. If your Rider doesn’t personally scrub you down once you start to molt I’ll be surprised.” She glanced at Ser Adrian, who was watching her with a keen attention that made her smile start to dim.

He waited for a moment before nodding. “I do handle his molt. I was told it was normally something left for the hostlers to take care of, but I insisted.” Ser Adrian flicked a glance between Elane and Cladius. “He is my partner. He deserves no less.”

Elane bit back the comment about that being a rather rare opinion amongst the Riders. “He is in excellent health,” she said instead. “He is about to start his molt so I would keep an eye on that, he might start getting irritable once the itching starts but I’m assuming you know how to deal with that. I would suggest getting the cap for the spur on his left foreleg replaced. It felt loose when I tested it and it will only serve to irritate him.”

Ser Adrian considered her for a weighty moment before nodding. “Thank you. My unit’s hostler didn’t seem to notice it.”

Elane shrugged. “It's a habit for me to check. It’s nothing urgent so I wouldn’t be too hard on your man.”

“If he didn’t notice, I would say he didn’t do a thorough enough check.” Kern looked Cladius up and down before turning to Ser Adrian. “While you are here we’ll look over the rest of your unit.” His expression darkened. “And I think I’ll have a chat with the hostler attached to your unit.”

Ser Adrian was saved from confirming or denying Kern’s offer when there was the low grind of the wagon approaching. As the wagon and the rest of its escort rolled in beneath the raised gate, Elane briefly considered letting Ser Adrian know that Kern’s offer wasn’t so much an offer as it was a declaration. Just the suggestion of a lazy hostler was enough to get Kern’s back up, and if it was just inexperience, well, that could be just as deadly if not more so for a unit meant to go into battle. Kern did not beat around the bush when it came to the safety of wyverns and everyone who interacted with them.

Elane figured however he’d gotten that scar was serving as a vivid reminder of how badly some things could go wrong.

The sound of the wagon and the rustle of the nearby wyverns as they paced inside their enclosures was drowned out by the furious shriek of an enraged wyvern. The ear shredding pitch it reached at the end made even Elane wince and she didn’t think twice about snagging Cladius’ lead and coaxing him over to Ser Adrian. The Rider was already stepping closer and he barely blinked when Elane was able to direct Cladius closer.

“He’s fairly used to the racket by now,” Ser Adrian admitted, but he did make a point of taking the lead and drawing Cladius head down so he could rub underneath his chin.

Elane noted how Cladius was dragging his hind claws through the loose dirt and that his crest spines were elevated but not yet rattling. “I can see that.” She stared askance at the wagon and the enraged feral it contained. There was another shriek and Elane winced, reflexively glancing at the surrounding enclosures set into the walls. No answering calls yet, but it would only be a matter of time before the rest of the wyverns started reacting.

“You didn’t mention the feral was female.” Elane said, making a point to keep all censure out of her tone. Ser Adrian had seemed a strangely friendly sort for a Rider, but Elane wasn’t going to forget that he was a Rider. Not even the most laid-back would usually tolerate a simple hostler questioning them.

“I did not and for that I am sorry.” Ser Adrian gestured to the wagon and the skittish horses that had been coaxed forward. “But as you can see I don’t have any other options. The horses will not pull the wagon much further and with the coming storm I cannot afford to have the wagon break down on the road.” There was another shriek and then a sharp hiss that Elane knew down to her bones. Every Rider and hostler learned to recognise the sound of a female in a feral rage. Considering it was usually followed by the wyvern unleashing her venom, it was a matter of life and death to recognize the signs.

Eying the cage built into the back of the wagon, Elane doubted the wyvern would use her venom even in the grips of a feral rage. The enclosure was made out of solid wood and judging from the sheen that covered it, coated in enough reinforcement spells that they could probably dip the entire thing in a pool of wyvern venom and it would only sink to the bottom as if submerged in water. Wyvern females weren’t immune to the caustic properties of their own venom, leading to impressive scarring and warped scales around their faces and neck amongst the older beasts. Even as enraged as this female sounded, spitting her venom in the cage would only serve to cause herself harm.

The cage was reinforced, but the wagon beneath it was not. Elane could see why Ser Adrian had been so adamant about finding a place to hole up and rest his men. It would give them a break from the raging feral and hopefully keep from fouling the wagon wheels in the muddy, pitted roads. If the wagon did founder, they would be trapped on the open road with a feral wyvern. Considering the spells reinforcing the cage were no doubt anchored in the wagon itself, it would only be a matter of time before she broke out and turned on them.

It was a nasty situation all around and Elane’s respect for Ser Adrian increased considering how deftly he had managed to navigate the situation into the best possible outcome.

Considering the wagon and the reinforced cage with its still hissing captive, Elane pressed her lips together. “How long has this wyvern been feral?”

When a wyvern turned feral it was even odds whether the beast would be put down and harvested or carted off to the nearest stable in the hope it could still be used as a breeder. Any stable would leap at the chance to bring in some fresh blood but it was always a risk. Feral wyverns were just as likely to savage their intended mates as actually breed with them.

Ser Adrian hesitated long enough to earn a raised brow before he said, “As far as I know this one has always been a feral.”

Elane raised both eyebrows now, truly shocked. “She was born wild?”

“No, from what I was told she was born on a farm, but went feral shortly after she was brought in to the Corps,” Ser Adrian said. He hesitated again before saying, “She’s too aggressive to breed and would have been put down except she has some of the most potent venom we’ve ever seen.”

“Ah,” Elane said, understanding his reserve. It was dangerous to try on a feral but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility to harvest wyvern venom. It wasn’t something she ever learned to do on her grandfather’s training farm since harvesting venom could cause the wyvern’s body to react by creating more than was healthy. They were still learning more about the wyverns every day it seemed and the drawback to the magic laced through their bodies was how sensitive and reactive they were. What made them clever and deadly mounts also made them somewhat delicate and they had to be handled carefully.

Not that the Corps as a whole truly understood that, much to Elane’s continued frustration.

“So what you’re saying is we have a female feral who is going to need to have the venom sacs emptied out before they become inflamed and she ends up being poisoned by her own venom. Do I have that right?”

Ser Adrian gave her a sharp nod, which was rather unnecessary by that point but Elane appreciated his willingness to accept her frustration at face value.

Sighing out loud would be unprofessional so Elane did it silently. “It will be a miracle if we all get through this intact,” she said quietly, slowly walking closer to the wagon. There was another shriek from inside the cage and the wagon shivered as the wyvern slammed against the side. There was no ‘hiss-snap’ of venom being spat out however, which was a good sign the wyvern was just feral and not falling into a frenzy.

If the female did that there would be no saving her. Ferals could be coaxed back from the edge, but once a wyvern fell into a frenzy the only recourse was to put them down.

Elane resisted the urge to rub just above the bridge of her nose, where a headache had already grown roots. It wouldn’t do to come off as unprofessional when everyone was already stretched to their limits with a feral wyvern just waiting to take a chunk out of somebody. It wasn’t an impossible situation, it would just take some careful maneuvering as well as a heap of luck.

“How is she usually removed from the cage?” Elane asked, with the suspicion that she wasn’t going to like the answer.

Ser Adrian didn’t disappoint, but in his defense he didn’t look happy about it either. “If she’s calm she can usually be coaxed out but if she’s being aggressive she’s usually fed drugged food. Once she’s asleep she’s hauled out and placed in her enclosure. If she won’t eat then they use the collar-”.

Holding up a hand, Elane cut him off before he could explain the travesty of the Wyvern Corps methods of dealing with wyverns. “Of course. So we have a feral wyvern with inflamed venom sacs who associates humans with pain and suffering.” She stared at the cage, honestly not sure where to even start.

When she glanced at Kern for possible guidance he just looked at her with one eyebrow lifted and Elane could feel the headache between her eyes grow teeth. Guess that rumor about Kern looking for a replacement wasn’t just the result of too many of her fellow hostlers breathing in the fumes while shoveling wyvern dung. She would have to decide later if she was appalled or proud. Kern would have one hell of a fight getting the higher ups to agree to a young woman taking his place so she wouldn’t worry about it until he made his choice ‘official’.

There was another shriek and Elane decided she’d wasted enough time standing around. “How does she react to other wyverns?” she asked Ser Adrian.

“She isn’t overtly aggressive with them,” he said, which was a relief. That would have been one hurdle too many considering how complicated the situation was already. “She isn’t what I would call friendly but she doesn’t attack on sight.”

Not the best response but better than outright aggressive behavior. With one last glance at Kern, who was still waiting off to the side to make it clear this was her show to run, she approached the wagon and cage. Once she was close enough to smell the acid bite of the venom she stopped and considered her options. There was another shriek but once again no telltale hiss-snap of venom being released. Small favors but they added up.

Her main goal was to try and get the wyvern to calm down. If she was calm Elane had a chance of getting her out of the cage without traumatizing her further. She should have asked Kern to have one of the other hostlers fetch the sedatives, but she felt as if asking for them was taking the easy way out. The wyvern deserved to be angry considering her treatment up until now and Elane wanted a chance to show Ser Adrian and his soldiers how it could be done if someone knew what they were doing.

Now if only she knew what she was doing.

It was impulse more than deliberate thought that had her putting her fingers to her lips and emitting a piercing whistle. It was two sharp tones, low and then high. Her grandfather’s farm hadn’t been big, but it was large enough to give the wyverns a decent amount of land to hunt and wander when they weren’t being kept in their separate enclosures. They’d been trained to associate the whistle with feeding time, and she had managed to break up a few disagreements amongst her scaly charges by having them immediately turn and race towards the gate in the hopes of being the first to eat. Not that they’d been fed randomly. They’d always made a point of observing the pack hierarchy amongst the wyverns and fed them accordingly.

She hoped that the noise would be enough to garner the female’s interest. If Ser Adrian was correct and she came from a training farm then it was more than likely she would have grown up listening to various whistles.

The low growling that had been emanating from the wagon since it was first rolled in cut off abruptly. Elane waited, heart suddenly beating faster with barely contained nerves. She almost couldn’t believe that had worked. With a quick glance at Ser Adrian she confirmed that he was also staring with wide eyes, equally surprised by the female’s response to her sharp whistle. Still standing next to Ser Adrian, Cladius let out a low rumble and extended his neck to nudge his rider.

“I’m guessing he came from a breeder as well?” Elane asked, smiling.

Ser Adrian reached up to rub Cladius snout. “From Redrock, one of the Corps’ main suppliers.” He scratched under Cladius’ chin. “You just ate so don’t think you’ll be getting anymore now.”

Leaving rider and wyvern to their dinner negotiations, Elane started walking closer to the wagon. One of the nearby soldiers backed away quick enough he almost tripped over his own feet. Finally noticing them milling around, it was hard to focus on them when there were wyverns taking up her full attention, Elane waved them away. “Please step back, I’ll never be able to get her to calm down if she can still smell any of you nearby.”

One of the soldiers, soaked from the rain that had been steadily pouring for the last half hour glared and opened his mouth, only for Ser Adrian to cut him off. “You heard hostler Elane. You may think this female is more trouble than she’s worth but I assure you, she feels the same way about all of us. Now let’s give the hostler some space.”

With a mix of sullen silence and quiet grumbles, and in one case a muttered prayer that the crazy wyvern got to take a chunk out of the crazy woman, Elane was left alone next to the wagon. The still suspiciously quiet wagon.

Kern stepped up beside her with a soft scuff of his boots. His arms were crossed over his chest and his lips were pressed together in a tight line. “You’re taking a big risk for very little gain, Elane. I know you’ve got a way with the beasts, but this one is a feral. Probably close to going into a frenzy judging from the sounds of those shrieks.”

Elane nodded, biting back her immediate assurance that she could figure something out. “I think I have a chance. The female calmed down after hearing the whistle. She might be a feral but I believe she remembers a time when humans weren’t the enemy. If I can bring her back from the edge then I have to do something.”

She didn’t say they needed all the cooperative females they could get, that wyvern venom was one of their greatest assets in war and letting a potent source go into a frenzy and be put down was a terrible waste. None of those reasons were why she wanted to save the wyvern, and Kern knew it. So she waited for him to tell her yes or no, trying not to think of what she might be driven to do if he did choose to deny her the chance.

After a moment that might as well have been a small eternity, Kern shrugged. “Try it your way first. But if you get savaged just remember you aren’t allowed to quit.”

“Well I do appreciate the job security,” Elane said under her breath as she slowly approached the wagon.

The female had made no sound since Elane whistled, her continued silence almost eerie after the sustained growling and shrieking they’d been subjected to since her arrival. Taking a breath, Elane whistled again, a soft three tone call that she had once used as a greeting when approaching the wyverns that she was responsible for. It was something they all had done, creating a specific whistle that served as another method of recognition when the wyvern’s weren’t able to scent them.

They’d each had their own whistle, and after a while the wyverns had started responding with their own short calls as well. It...hurt to think about, made Elane remember what her life had used to be like and how drastically everything had fallen apart.

It was gone, stolen away by the king and his Royal Wyvern Corps no matter how much she wished she could bring it all back.

She almost didn’t realize what she was hearing, the sounds were so soft. Little chirps that by all rights should have come from a bird. For a confused moment, Elane thought that a bird had managed to get in and had only now decided to reveal itself. It was certainly more believable than what her traitorous heart was thinking, the sound of that faint call alone enough to set her heart pounding.. She had to be imagining it. There was no way she could be that lucky. The odds of finding any of the wyverns from her family’s farm had been almost non-existent. To not only find one, but have it be this particular one...was it a dream?

“Elane, what’s going on?” Kern asked. There was a soft scuff as he started to walk toward her, and Elane held out a hand to make him stop.

“Stay back,” she said, heart in her throat. After so much grief, the first sliver of hope hurt like wyvern acid. The burn of it seemed to go straight through her. “I think I know this wyvern. I don’t want to spook her.”

It took several attempts to wet her lips with her mouth suddenly gone dry. She whistled again, the same three tones, high-low-high. The chirps in response were louder and more confident, followed by a low rumble that made Elane’s heart twist. Hand pressed to her mouth she took several quick steps and climbed the back of the wagon. She ignored the panicked sounds behind her and went right up to the cage.

No matter how much hope pushed her onward, Elane didn’t let it blind her. Rather than immediately sliding back the small door that would let her see inside, Elane whistled again. This time she used the whistle that she had only used for one wyvern.

She held her breath with one hand pressed against the small latch, ignoring Ser Adrian as he called her name as well as Kern’s demand to know what she was doing. Instead she listened to the brief moment of silence from within the cage, and then the short chirps followed by a rumble purr that made her eyes go blurry from a sudden surge of unshed tears.

Unlatching the lock and sliding the small barrier aside, she was greeted by a huff of wyvern breath carrying the acid bite of venom. A pair of achingly familiar gold eyes peered out at Elane, the familiar mask of black scales that gradually faded into gray lost within the gloom.

“Nightingale,” Elane breathed, throat growing tight as her eyes started to burn. “By the gods Nightingale, I actually found you.”

Touching her fingers to the smooth warmth of familiar scales just above the wyvern venom induced scars that had twisted Nightingale’s lips into a permanent snarl, Elane silently swore that she would not let this second chance slip away.


End file.
